


protect me from what i want

by silverhymn



Category: The Daevabad Trilogy - S. A. Chakraborty
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Class Differences, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, Medical Procedures, One Night Stands, Romance, Spoilers for Book 3: The Empire of Gold, Unplanned Pregnancy, also i can't believe nobody's written fic for these two yet, but putting it in now feels like false advertising, i'll definitely be updating the tags b/c there's gonna be a lot more to this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:22:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28852014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverhymn/pseuds/silverhymn
Summary: Rustam Nahid could be a prince from a fairy tale. Too bad Duriya doesn't believe in them.(Or: Maybe they should have had a serious conversation before the one night stand.)
Relationships: Duriya (Daevabad)/Rustam e-Nahid
Comments: 9
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> eog spoilers, kinda? it's the concept more than the content

At the Hospital of Anahid, the twins were famous. Duriya had begun to think of them as the Doctors Nahid. The two medical prodigies working at the hospital their ancestor founded, like a prince and princess returning to a kingdom that was their birthright. It was something straight out of a fairy tale. 

After finding out that the twins had been assigned to her case— _you’re the first to have them both_ , her nurse Nisreen enthusiastically informed her—curiosity compelled Duriya to look them up on the hospital website. To her surprise, neither sibling featured prominently on the front page. She’d expected a little more ego from a family that took its name from a goddess.

Duriya had to look through the staff lists to find the headshots. She couldn’t miss the sister. Under the general surgery subsection, the piercing black of Manizheh’s eyes issued a challenge to anyone who dared look at her. If her hair had been loose, she would have looked like a witch, but it had been pulled into a bun that even a hurricane couldn’t unravel. Though she showed no visible displeasure, Duriya sensed that she considered this photo unnecessary posturing. Her neutral expression appeared slightly strained, her irritation bubbling to the surface. 

Finding Rustam was more difficult. Duriya had to scrutinize the anesthesiology subsection three times before she found him, hidden near the end of the list. Superficially, he had his sister’s pale gold skin, dark hair, and refined bone structure. Though he might also wish that he could be doing something else, the reserved curve of his lips expressed more self-consciousness than anger. She kept looking at him out of stubbornness more than anything. The details of his face slipped away the moment she stopped looking at him. A man as handsome as him shouldn’t have been so damn forgettable. 

“Are you ready?” 

Duriya jerked her eyes away from her phone screen as Nisreen made her entrance, followed by a bunch of dutiful techs. “Are we doing this right now?” she asked. 

But Nisreen wasn’t the one who’d spoken, and she wasn’t the one who answered Duriya’s question. At the back of the group, Dr. Manizheh Nahid stared at her silently for a moment before answering. “It’s a simple laparoscopy. Should only take an hour or two. You’re staying overnight since we’re doing it so late.”

Would an overnight stay cost more money? The laparoscopy, while technically optional, was meant to help with Duriya’s endometriosis pain, which was sometimes manageable and sometimes unbearable. She never would have gone for the operation if she was completely broke, but she had been counting on going home as soon as possible to minimise her hospital expenses. However, under Manizheh’s cool, almost disdainful gaze, her concerns felt foolish.

While she worried, everybody else began to bustle around, prepping for surgery. She didn’t even notice that the Nahid brother had taken a seat next to her until he spoke. “My sister’s not the best with bedside manners, but she’s a magnificent surgeon. We’re not charging for your stay, if you’re worried about the fees. I know that you wanted to be out of here today.”

“Thank fuck.” She said it too loud, the words echoing about the room. Everyone turned to look at her. “Sorry, everyone. Dr. Nahid and, um, other Dr. Nahid.”

Both of them turned to look at her. In person, it was much easier to see the differences. They might share the same features, but the soft darkness of Rustam’s features was charcoal to Manizheh’s harsh ink. Manizheh just gave her a tight smile, but Rustam broke the silence with a dry laugh. “It can get confusing during operations.” 

Manizheh rolled her eyes with the long-suffering affection reserved for siblings. “You might have had more time to get used to it if you’d gone through medical school faster.”

Her brother ignored the taunt as he pierced a vein on the inside of Duriya’s elbow. “This will only hurt for a second. The anesthesia will be kicking in soon.” As he leaned closer to set up the IV drip, he softened his voice. “My sister has seniority here, so I guess she’s won the title of Dr. Nahid. You can call me Rustam.”

Duriya was the only one who heard him. She felt herself flush, but his attention was on the IV tubes. 

She felt like she was outside her own body, watching everything from a distance. The drugs had begun to kick in, but his voice was a drug of its own, lowering her inhibitions. “How have you never worked with your sister before?” she wondered, watching him put everything in place. 

“I’m slower.” He taped a tube to the inside of her wrist. “Manizheh sped through the med school process and ended up doing residency here. I took a few gap years and did residency somewhere else. I’ve only been working in this place for the past few months or so. Are you getting sleepy?”

Duriya nodded, even as she tried to blink away her drowsiness. She wanted to ask him more questions. “Do you like being a doctor?” Rustam must be making at least triple her salary. After years of working in customer service, the idea of a nice rich man was a borderline paradox, but if it could exist, he was it. 

He was at least nice enough to humor her. “I like taking away people’s pain.” This time, his voice was loud enough for everyone else to hear. A twinkle of mischief lit up in his eyes. “Manizheh likes playing god.” 

From the periphery, Duriya thought she heard Dr. Nahid calling him an asshole, but she was barely aware of it. At this point, she was barely aware of herself. The only thing she could focus on right now was Rustam. At this distance, she could see dark circles under his eyes. They had been edited out of his headshot. 

She stared at his face for a very long time before making her announcement. “Rustam, you’re pretty.”

Maybe he blushed, but at that point, she was too far gone to remember. 

* * *

What was the point of waking up if you were going back to sleep in thirty minutes? After the surgery, she would have been content to sleep until morning, but since she hadn’t been able to eat anything eight hours before surgery, Nisreen pushed her up to a sitting position and dutifully shoveled a meal of mashed potatoes and peas into her mouth. 

The Nahids had left long before she was conscious enough to thank them, leaving another team of doctors to monitor her vitals as she recovered. After Duriya ate enough to satisfy Nisreen, the lights turned off, allowing her to fall into a deep and dreamless slumber. It wasn’t until the next morning, when she peeled her eyelids open, that she remembered what had happened. What she’d done.

“Nisreen.” Her voice came out strangled. “Did I call the doctor pretty?” 

Nisreen waved it off. “Dr. Nahid is a handsome man, and people have said much weirder things under anesthesia. Trust me, I’d know.” Nisreen only spoke about the twins with reverent tones, a hero worship that was almost child-like. Duriya suspected that the nurse might have a crush on one of them before finding out that the Nahid family had given her a full-ride scholarship through nursing school. “Even if he did take offense, I’m sure he would forgive you.”

Duriya pressed her face into the pillow so she could let out a groan of anguish. “I have to apologize somehow.”

“I’ll tell him you’re sorry,” Nisreen assured her, “or you can leave a note. But now you have to wash up and get ready.” The nurse held up the clothes Duriya had worn yesterday, freshly washed.

It was spring in New York, which meant that most of the snow had melted into dirty slush, but it was still cold as hell. Duriya would have been content to huddle under the blankets and hibernate if the nurse hadn’t gone on to say, “You’ll be charged for an extra day if you stay too long.” 

So instead, she braved the cold in her cheap paper robe to reach the shower, deciding that feeling less grubby was worth the cost. The cramped dimensions forced her arms into uncomfortable positions as she tried to wash her body without opening her wounds. 

She was combing the tangles out of her damp hair with her fingers when the doctor who watched over her after surgery came by her room, delivering the forms she needed to sign out. After they reviewed potential side effects and concerns, Duriya gained the courage to voice her question. “Do you know where the Nahids are? I didn’t get a chance to thank them.”

“Rustam has the day off, but I think Manizheh’s on break right now.” The doctor forked a thumb at the empty doorway. “If you want, I can get her.” 

Duriya thanked the doctor profusely before insisting that it wasn’t necessary. Snatching the file that listed all the post-surgery caretaking procedures, she high-tailed it out of the Hospital of Anahid on pure adrenaline. This must be what fleeing the scene of a crime felt like. Part of her felt bad for not thanking Manizheh personally, but the other half figured that the colder Nahid twin didn’t really care. 

* * *

The procedure file advised Duriya to take at least two weeks off to recuperate. There was no way she could manage that much off-time without losing her job, but her baba convinced her to use a few of her sick days by bribing her with a steady supply of tea and her favorite biscuits, the smell of them baking in the oven too much to resist. On her first day back, she foolishly thought she could be useful and finish some time-consuming chores while he was out of the house. Once Baba came back, he skewered her with a look that made her feel like a toddler at the ripe old age of thirty.

As a result, Duriya spent the rest of her break sprawled over the shabby green couch in the living room, Netflix droning on in the background as she scrolled through her phone. Idleness felt uncomfortable, like a shirt with tags that made the back of your neck itch. There was only so much you could take. 

In a stroke of genius, she remembered that she’d never actually thanked the Nahids. After finding Manizheh’s email on the hospital website, she wrote an effusive note, complimenting the surgeon on her technical ability. Maybe the glowing praise was wasted, but Duriya didn’t care. It was something to do. In her excitement, she didn’t even bother deleting the automatic “Sent from my iPhone” signature. 

She sent emails to all of the techs, and Nisreen too, in a feverish rush, basking in the glow of usefulness. Then she realized that she really should send Rustam an email too. It was only fair.

There was no hiding under the guise of general procrastination when she’d written all of the other notes so quickly. While she couldn’t move her eyes off Manizheh’s headshot fast enough, she found herself lingering over the contours of Rustam’s face. It was at this point that Duriya had to acknowledge the truth: she had a crush on him—a handsome, charming doctor who’d probably forgotten her existence the moment he left her hospital room.

Duriya had to scream into a pillow. (Again.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> decided to write a modern au b/c i just really wanted rustam to be an anesthesiologist :') 
> 
> the poetry of helping other people with pain when you've gone through so much of it in an alternate life


	2. Chapter 2

Duriya spent the rest of the week at her kitchen table, sipping tea that had gone cold as she scanned her laptop screen, engaging in something she called research. “Stalking someone on social media” just didn’t have the same ring to it.

A conversation at the workplace—he’d only been doing his job when he spoke to her—was hardly enough to get a handle on Rustam’s character. At the beginning, she’d been looking for evidence that would puncture her ballooning infatuation. That was what she told herself, but she would have accepted any scrap of information. If he had even a perfunctory Facebook account with a single photo, she would examine it with the focus of an archaeologist.

But he had no visible online presence at all. (Well, he had LinkedIn. _Dr. Rustam Nahid, MD, Anesthesiologist at the Hospital of Anahid_. Maybe there was some hidden meaning in those words, but Duriya wasn’t talented enough to find it.)

The most promising lead was an Instagram account that was, of course, set on private. Duriya wished she had the good sense to become fascinated with someone a little more vain. A dermatologist, maybe. He didn’t even have his face on his profile picture, just a white rose in full bloom, nestled against dark green leaves. 

Briefly, she wondered if he had a secret identity, a completely different persona online. She’d spent her childhood trawling anonymously through obscure internet forums at home while her father was working, but a Nahid wouldn’t have time for that nonsense. They had been predestined for greatness, every action mapped out before birth. A part of her thought they might have sprung fully-formed into existence.

On a lark, Duriya checked out Manizheh’s account. Unfortunately, it was exactly what she expected, a carefully-curated assembly of photos, medical conferences and charity functions, all muted colors and remote professionalism. The only surprising thing about it all was the profile picture. 

It was a slightly grainy photo of the two siblings, their dark heads bent together as they smiled. Rustam was holding up his hand to block the sun from his eyes. On his finger was a ring that looked too expensive for a ten-year-old. The pure gold band looked like it might slip off at the slightest movement. Duriya felt her eyes drawn to its signet, a winged lion. 

She stared at the picture for a long moment, absorbing the proof that the Nahids she knew had once been children. Feeling too lazy to investigate any other leads, she scrolled through the rest of Manizheh’s feed, absentmindedly looking for a second glimmer of humanity. 

The verdant color of the greenhouse shot caught her attention first. In it, delicate trees grew tall enough to touch the glass ceiling, surrounding a lake dotted with giant lily pads, their blue flowers blooming larger than her fists. Compared to the rest of the pictures, it felt almost tender. She felt like she was peering into somewhere sacrosanct, a memory in someone else’s mind. 

And in the foreground was a hand, touching one of the flowers. She knew those hands, those fingers, long and careful, brushing over the petals as if they were something sacred. She’d imagined them trailing over her skin. 

She slammed the laptop shut. 

Ridiculous. Ridiculous to be entertaining this silly little crush when she was a grown woman. She should forget it all. 

* * *

The community botanical gardens had enjoyed the support of the Nahids for years. In fact, they had commissioned the construction of an entire greenhouse, meant to support medicinal research and cultivation, though they weren’t gauche enough to actually put their names on it. Duriya only found the connection after falling down a wormhole of sponsorship lists.

You could actually request any of the herbs grown from the garden, a fact that frankly shocked her after she discovered that saffron was grown within those glass walls. She was stuck on a picture of the purple flowers, their glorious red stigmata ready to be plucked. Baba always wanted to experiment with saffron, but the spice was too expensive for him to afford. Once, to please him, she tried to grow a saffron crocus at home. It died the moment she touched it. 

Briefly losing herself in childhood memories, it took her a moment before she realized that her father was on their doorstep, shouting at her to open the door. She leapt to her feet. “Coming!”

When she opened the door, she almost shrieked in alarm. Baba was smiling, but she could see his chest heaving with exertion underneath his coat. He was hunched under the weight of the plastic bags that hung from both of his arms, almost dragging on the ground. 

“Why did you go alone?” she hissed, snatching the bags away. “I told you that we should go to the store together.” 

“Nonsense,” he said tersely, waving it off even as he straightened his spine. She heard something pop. He switched to Arabic. “A little bit of exercise does nothing but good for an old man like me. You act like I’m on the brink of death already.”

“Don’t joke about that.” Duriya did not bring up the fact that he had once been on the brink of death. The medical bills had put them both on the brink of bankruptcy. 

Since her father had apparently walked all the way to the local supermarket and back, she took it upon herself to put all the groceries away. Even as she put everything away, she felt her father’s presence in the kitchen behind her. Turning towards him, she waved him off. “Go rest. I’ve been lying around for days with nothing to do and I don’t—”

Seeing her father peer at her laptop screen, she choked on her words. In her haste to help her father, she’d left it open on the kitchen table. 

It was just the picture of the saffron crocus, but in some ways, that was worse. If it had been a picture of a man, any man, Baba would have pointedly ignored it. If it had been a picture of Rustam, Duriya could have passed it off as pure curiosity about the doctor who’d watched over her during surgery. “That’s private,” she mumbled in an attempt to redirect his attention, but he was already avidly scanning the caption. 

“I’ve never heard of this place before,” Baba said, almost to himself. “Do they really give out all these herbs for free?” He looked up at her, a youthful light in his eyes. “Maybe we can go there this weekend.”

There were times in life where parent and child switched roles. She imagined that this was how Baba had felt when she was five years old, begging for a Barbie from the toy aisle. Some resistance was required. “I don’t want to use up all my energy.”

She couldn’t go to the garden. Not because the outing would be unpleasant, but because she couldn’t handle the possibility of bumping into the doctor there. Even if she tried to pass it off as a coincidence, she had a feeling that he would see right through her.

Baba scoffed. “You were perfectly fine with putting up all the groceries, but now you’re tired when it comes to doing something fun. And I know you’ll throw yourself back into your job the moment the next week starts. It’s almost like you don’t want to spend time with me anymore.”

The desire to be a good daughter was her weakness, and they both knew it. “Don’t do that,” she protested, even as her father gave her a beseeching look, one that five-year-old Duriya would have proudly added to her arsenal. She folded. “Ugh. Fine.” 

Her father switched back to his normal paternal demeanor so fast that it gave her whiplash. “Thank you, habibti. I’ll leave you with the groceries.” He shed his heavy winter coat, hanging it over one of the dining chairs before practically flouncing into the living room.

She knew when she’d been conned.

* * *

If Duriya spent thirty minutes deliberating over an outfit, that was her secret to keep. She decided on a ruffled yellow sundress, even though her father insisted that she also wear a full-length coat buttoned up to her throat. Their house was in New Jersey, so they took the subway into the city. On the train, she was grateful for the cover-up, feeling horribly overdressed compared to the other passengers. Her red lipstick, bright against her dark brown skin, attracted more than enough attention.

However, once they reached the neighborhood, she began to wish that she’d dressed up more. The Nahids were rich enough to actually live in the city. Their garden might be meant for a community, but it wasn’t one that she belonged to. 

In a last-ditch effort to derail her father, who couldn’t navigate with a phone if his life depended on it, she pretended that she’d gotten lost. Unfortunately, that gambit didn’t work when the botanical garden building was so obvious—three overlapping circular greenhouses with a lobby connecting them all. Even from a distance, the glass panes reflected the noon sunlight into her eyes, screaming for her attention.

“We’re really doing this,” she sighed. Baba had already entered the building. Nothing would keep the man from his herbs. 

The lobby was lushly appointed, with mosaic flooring, blue and green tiles that formed intricate designs. Pots of hanging plants dangled from hooks placed strategically on the white walls. People sat on soft couches scattered around the area, but Duriya’s focus was on the reception desk that guarded the entrance to the actual gardens. 

A woman manned the desk, her attention preoccupied by a game on her phone. She looked up when Duriya’s father made his enthusiastic entrance. “How can I help you?” 

“We heard that you grow saffron here.” He took off his hat, looking horribly earnest. “Do you give out samples?” 

“Only if you live in the area.” The receptionist squinted at him. “We don’t usually do that for non-residents.”

Baba’s expression faltered. Duriya couldn’t stand the way the woman looked at him, as if he was a grubby fool trying to reach above his station. Without a second thought, she leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Really? Rustam said that you would be delighted to do it.” She gave the woman a frosty look.

“You know Dr. Nahid?” The receptionist’s demeanor changed magically at the sound of his name. As she straightened, a welcoming smile materialized onto her face. “Why didn’t you say so? I can make the arrangements right now.” She insisted on giving them a tour of the entire greenhouse after that. For the most part, Duriya tuned her out. The garden had her attention.

The humidity was the first thing that hit her, so different from the air conditioning in the lobby. It felt like a blanket, almost smothering in its warmth. She quickly cast off her coat, but amidst the unbelievably bright flowers, she didn’t stick out at all. The main atrium was centered around the pond Duriya had seen in the photo. She stared at her reflection in the water, hoping her curls hadn’t frizzed too badly. 

She looked up. On the second floor was a balcony that circled at the edges of the structure. The center was open, allowing light to stream down to the floor through the transparent dome that enclosed everything. “Can we go up there?” 

“That’s the doctor’s workspace. I can’t let you up here without his authorization. He visits some weekends, but he’s not here today.”

That was good. If she saw Rustam again, she might say something else embarrassing. And this time, she wouldn’t be able to point to the anesthesia as an excuse. Still, as the receptionist continued chattering about all the Nahid community contributions with the fawning devotion of an acolyte, Duriya felt a twinge of disappointment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok this chapter is still set-up, but the Good Stuff is coming, I promise!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally living up to that mature rating lol  
> *shuffles off the mortal coil*

When Duriya finally got back to work, she remembered why she hated it so much. Spending twelve hours a day running around the store made her feet feel like blocks of lead. After coming back from work on Friday, her body felt like one giant ache. She barely had enough energy to take a shower and pull on an oversized black shirt before she collapsed into bed.

She only checked the reminder because her phone had landed next to her face. At first, she tried to ignore it, but in her darkened bedroom, the screen glowed as brightly as the noon-day sun. Lifting her head from her pillow, she squinted at the words: _Pick up Baba’s saffron from the botanical gardens_.

Knowing that she had the house to herself, she let out a colossal groan. If her father had been here, she would have asked him to pick up the spices himself. Unfortunately, Friday nights were some of the busiest worktimes for Baba, who worked as a chef at a local restaurant. If he even got a chance to check his phone before midnight, he would be too exhausted to do anything about it.

Somehow, Duriya managed to peel herself out of bed, only bothering to tug on a pair of sweatpants and check that her hair wasn’t a complete bird’s nest before ducking outside the house. The air was refreshingly crisp. She inhaled a deep lungful before putting herself on autopilot, following the route she’d taken before without allowing a single thought to flit through her mind.

Maybe she should have had some concern about being alone at night, but if she had started worrying, it would have been wasted. This neighborhood had a vintage charm to it, the sidewalks lit up with honest-to-God antique street lamps that cast everything in a golden glow. On a Friday like this, an evening with pleasant weather and a clear midnight sky, people dined outside and crowded the walkways. She saw singles, couples, entire families, all chattering amiably with each other as the stars twinkled overhead. Nobody noticed her, and for a moment, she could pretend that she didn’t need a reason to be here.

She only remembered her purpose when she saw the botanical building, She’d chosen a day when the greenhouse was closed for maintenance, so only the receptionist would get a close look at Duriya’s low-maintenance style today. Still, a hint of self consciousness crept in. She slinked up to the front desk and put on a polite smile. “Hi, I don’t know if you remember me, but my father and I requested some saffron last week? I’m here to pick it up.”

What she didn’t expect was for the receptionist to spring up to her feet. Her greeting was an overwhelming welcome. “How are you? Your things are on the second floor of the greenhouse. The doctor prepared them for you. Would you like me to show you where to go?” Being on the receiving end of such a bright customer service grin was unnerving.

It seemed that the receptionist’s reverence for the Nahids had been temporarily transferred to Duriya. She didn’t want it. “That’s really not necessary,” she said politely, before scrambling into the garden. 

She’d known that the lights would be off, but it was a completely different matter to actually find yourself within these walls at night. The glass, the sense of artificial control, all of it faded away as the trees crowded her, becoming silhouettes that reached for her in the dark. Despite her clothes, she swore she could feel leaves brushing her bare skin. She slowed to a walking pace, resisting her irrational urge to look over her shoulder. Detached from mundane reality, she might have been lost in a jungle.

When she tried to find the stairs, she realized that she was actually lost, but she wasn’t willing to subject herself to the receptionist’s suffocating desire to please. There was nowhere to go but forward. She finally glimpsed a flight of stairs, hidden behind a curtain of foliage. Vines flickered over her face as she made her way to the narrow metal staircase. Even before her foot touched the first step, she winced, bracing herself for its creak under her weight. 

Oh, wait. No one was here. If Dr. Rustam Nahid was upstairs right now, the receptionist would have fallen over herself to announce it. She probably would have made some snide comment about keeping the good doctor waiting. 

Resisting the urge to stomp (out of self-preservation more than anything—the steps were more like rungs on a ladder), Duriya ascended silently. She found herself on a platform that overlooked the lake. At the center of the tranquil water, surrounded by perfectly-still water lilies, was a reflection of the full moon. Duriya leaned on the plexiglass railing, making sure not to disrupt the trumpet vines that crawled over the outside. They blocked the second floor from the eyes of anyone who looked up.

She wondered what was so important that it needed to be hidden from view. As she walked further inward, the platform transformed from an extension of the garden to a lab of its own. The moonlight didn’t reach this area, so she held her hands out in front of her, praying that she didn’t knock over something expensive. The tables were covered with a million types of carefully-labeled greenery, growing in segmented squares of soil. Here, beauty came second to utility, but that was a beauty of its own. 

But where was the package? Duriya cursed her foolishness in not asking exactly where to find the thing. Even if she was humble enough to go back, the receptionist would probably have gone home at this point. People trusted you a lot more when they thought you were friends with someone rich. 

She stared at the labels stuck into the dirt. The sequences of numbers meant nothing to her, but she read them anyway. The world became familiar as her vision adjusted to the dark. A faint whirring registered in her mind. She thought that the platform ended here, but it went a little further. This last part was hidden by a deceptively gauzy curtain. Despite her urge to rip it away, she gently pulled it open. 

She found a resting area of sorts, a shadowy alcove. The trumpet vines crawled all over the railings that enclosed the space, their orange-red blooms growing without restraint. An ornate rug covered most of the floor here, held in place by a coffee table. The sound she heard came from an old-fashioned fan, aimed at the couch against the wall—and the man sleeping on top of it.

He had a name, of course, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it. He was lying on his back, his head propped up on a pillow. On his stomach was a brown paper bag with her name on it, which didn’t seem quite right when the package was for her father. But she liked the way he wrote her name, almost like a signature, all of the letters inscribed with one stroke of Sharpie. Supposedly, doctors had chicken scratch for handwriting, but his was quite nice.

Duriya couldn’t bring herself to step on the rug without taking her sneakers off. She put them next to his and tiptoed until she leaned over him. It would be nothing to snatch the bag and run away, so she did.

Or, she tried. Too bad he yanked it back. His eyes shot open, but his face remained expressionless. She stood there, the beat of her heart drowning out everything else.

Using his first name had seemed reasonable when he first offered it to her in the hospital room, and it had been a useful tool with the receptionist. This was different. She had no reason to say it right now. No reason, except that she wanted to. 

She finally gave in. “Hello, Rustam.” His name felt odd on her tongue, too intimate.

“Hello, Duriya.” His mouth curved into a smile. “You’re not very good at sneaking around.”

* * *

“If you were awake, why didn’t you say something?” Duriya wondered. 

“I thought I was seeing things.” Rustam replied. He got up and sat on one side of the couch, leaving an empty space for her. “Guests aren’t usually that quiet.” 

“I didn’t know you were waiting for me.” She crossed her arms, feeling defensive. “You didn’t have to greet me personally. I only dropped your name with the receptionist because she was being such a snob.” 

She was expecting him to brush her comment off, but his expression became serious, pensive. “I’ll have to talk to her about that.” People often made promises just to be polite, but to her surprise, he sounded like he actually meant it. 

Oh, what the hell. After such a long day, the couch was too tempting to resist. She took a seat on the edge and curled her legs under her, conscious of his gaze but too cowardly to meet it. 

While her brain scrounged for a mundane topic of conversation, her body registered a paper bag touching her hand. It should have been the saffron, but that was resting on the coffee table now. This bag was white, and when she peered inside, she saw that it was half filled with donut holes. She stuck her hand inside and grabbed one. “Did you buy this for me?” 

“You could say that. I already ate half of them.” He laughed. “You’re a convenient excuse. I have to travel all the way out here to indulge my sweet tooth. Manu hates it, and she has the nose of a bloodhound when it comes to sugar. She sniffs it out every time I try to hide it.”

Duriya snorted. “Did you really start a horticulture lab here just so you could get away with eating junk food?” 

As it turned out, horticulture wasn’t just an excuse for smuggling sweets. The mention of it set Rustam off on a long, excited rambling on the future of plant cultivation. Even if there was space for Duriya to respond, she wouldn’t know what to say. Most of the terminology he used was going over her head, but she liked the passion in his voice. She couldn’t remember when she’d felt the same excitement about something in her life. 

“What do you think?” 

“Hmm?” Duriya quickly swallowed the donut hole she’d popped into her mouth. “Yes, about the…?” She waited, but he didn’t respond to her prompt.

Over the course of their little conversation, they’d drifted closer, until all that separated them was the narrow gap between the couch cushions. At last, she turned her head, realizing too late that it put their faces perilously close to each other. She focused on some faraway point in the distance.

Rustam peered at her like he was examining one of his specimens. “Are you usually this shy?”

“I am not _shy_.” And to prove him wrong, she forced herself to make eye contact. The night sky looked pallid when compared to his dark, dark eyes. “Maybe you’re the shy one.”

Rustam laughed. If she wasn’t so close to him, she wouldn’t have noticed the almost-imperceptible flush that had snuck onto his cheekbones. 

It must have been the heat. There was no other reason, unless… Duriya’s eyes narrowed. If she thought seriously about it, he had no professional reason for him to meet her in person. She hadn’t experienced any post-op problems, and he could have just left a note with the receptionist if he needed to tell her something anyway. But he was here. “Surely a man like you has something better to do on the weekend.”

“Are you kidding? Eating junk food alone on a Friday night is the dream. Speaking of which…” Rustam snatched the white bag from her hand. Before she registered what was happening, he’d already popped one of the treats into his mouth. 

He dangled the bag like a matador taunting a charging bull. Her arms were too short to grab it back, so she lunged towards him. She seized the bag, but the force of her movement sent both of them sprawling. “Ha!” Duriya crowed, so absorbed in her victory that she almost fell off the couch.

Rustam’s hand shot out to keep her in place, pressing against the base of her spine. Her shirt had ridden up. He traced a circle on her bare skin before awareness sunk in. “I’m—I’m sorry.” He pulled his fingers away, but an echo of the sensation remained. 

Such an insignificant touch, but it made her excruciatingly aware of their positions, her body suspended over his. Her blood turned to lightning in her veins. The heightened sensation transformed the world into a dream, a place where she could be vulnerable. “Do you think I’m pretty?” 

“I want the things I can’t have.” It confused Duriya, hearing those words from a man who, by birthright, should have gotten anything he wanted. It was not quite a rejection. Lust was easily recognizable in a man’s eyes. 

He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear in a measured movement, as if trying not to linger. Paradoxically, she liked him more because he held himself back. As it was, all she could do was breathe in the space between them. She focused on the hollow of his throat. “I’d like it if you kissed me.” 

Silence greeted her, but she saw his throat move. She looked up and then his mouth was on hers. He tasted faintly of sugar, she noticed as her tongue traced the seam of his lips. When they separated, they were both panting for breath.

“I should have done that ages ago,” Rustam said. 

The absurdity of the situation made Duriya laugh. She’d spent all this time overthinking when the way to get what she wanted was so simple. Instead of psyching herself out again, she straddled his lap. “You should do it again.” This time, she kissed him.

A fluttering sensation emerged low in her body, the giddiness of a teenager who’d just discovered that her crush liked her back. As they continued to make out, the fluttering became darker, hotter. The greenhouse humidity was a good excuse. She took off her shirt, her bra straps slipping down her shoulders. 

His eyes darkened even more as they wandered over her. He grazed the little red scars that surgery had left on her stomach. “Have you recovered?”

She answered his unspoken question, pulling her pants off. “Keep going.” 

His hand trailed down to the waistband of her underwear before sneaking underneath. The seam between her legs was already wet. Two fingers slipped in and out of her as another circled her clit in an intoxicating rhythm. “Please,” she gasped, not quite sure what she was asking for. His fingers curled inside her and suddenly, she was spasming around them. 

She sucked in deep lungfuls of air, her chest moving up and down with the force of them. Her hair had tumbled loose, and when she pushed it away from her face, she caught him examining her. From a distance, he might have been a statue, the angles of his face cast in bluish light.

It wasn’t fair that he could appear so controlled when her own desire was so obvious. He might be still underneath her, but she could sense his heart beating in his chest and, lower still, his hardness against her stomach. In a quick movement, she unzipped his pants and seated herself on his cock. 

He hadn’t been expecting that. His eyes widened before becoming unfocused. “You think you’re smart, don’t you?” There was a smile in his voice.

When he looked at her like that, she felt like some ancient goddess. “Yes. Very much so.” She meant to be smug, but her voice came out breathy. To make up for the weakness, she squeezed around him. 

He hissed, his fingers digging into her hips, and that was when she knew she had him. She gloried in the sensation. This was what she had always wanted—for him to lose all restraint, becoming just as wild as she felt. She squirmed, lowering herself until their bodies were flush.

At his first thrust, she cursed. “Fuck.”

“That _is_ what we’re doing.”

“If you start arguing with me about the proper terminology for sexual intercourse, I’m leaving.”

He chortled. “Then I’ll be quiet.”

She meant to respond, but he thrust into her again. She was lost. Somehow, the pleasure was both too much and not enough. She strained towards it anyway. When the wave finally came crashing down, her eyes squeezed shut, fireworks exploding behind her eyelids. He kissed her, capturing her shriek of release. 

They collapsed side-by-side on the couch, almost overlapping, her practically naked on her back and him slightly on top of her. The fan’s breeze washed over both of them, her practically naked and him fully clothed. There was something obscene about that. 

Vaguely, she registered that he’d draped her shirt over her chest, protecting her from any imaginary observers. How chivalrous. All other thoughts had drained out of her mind. 

He buried his face in the crook of her neck and murmured something quietly, the words tickling her skin. “You’re very pretty.” He fell asleep before she realized what he’d said. She should have left then, but all she did was stare at the full moon shining obliviously overhead, beaming so much that it hurt her mouth.

Duriya might have followed Rustam into slumber if her phone hadn’t chimed with a text. She read the message from Baba: _Where are you?_ The sedative of her fantasies wore off, replaced by shame. She hadn’t even told her father where she was going, and—she checked the time — it was now 12:30. _Went out for a run_ , she replied, hoping to give him some peace of mind. _Returning soon._

She extricated herself from Rustam’s body, searching frantically for her clothes in the darkness. At this point, her curls must be lopsided, but that was the least of her problems. She grabbed the paper bag she’d come for as an afterthought. Too bad it was the wrong one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long to get out! sex scenes can be very good characterization, but they're SO difficult for me to write


End file.
